


Shadow Of Me

by VladiMasters



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Complete, Creepypasta, Minor Character Death, Murder, Oneshot, Other, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4853519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VladiMasters/pseuds/VladiMasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy was known as The Jinx. After all, people can't just drop dead for no reason at all around the same person without people noticing. There's no warning to the deaths. They just seem to happen, and nobody knows how or why. Well, nobody but him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this, but I decided to see if I couldn't get any commentary on how to make it better. I kinda don't know what to do with it, but I know it's missing something.

Shadow Of Me

They called it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD for short. I didn't believe them. I honestly didn't care, never did. So how could that be traumatic? They said the trauma was the reason I'm so emotionally stunted. They didn't listen when I tried to tell them the truth, so I've stopped trying. It's always best for me to play the good boy. Just nod to whatever they say, tell them I understand.I'm not lying. Because I DO understand. It's them that don't. Truth is, people just "drop dead" around me. Doctors can find nothing wrong. They're perfectly fine until they randomly stop breathing or go into cardiac arrest. 

 

It started with my mother when I was five. I should have been at a play date, but it was raining too hard, so my mother had me stay home. Dad was playing with me in my room when the feeling came. At the time, I didn't get what I felt. It was too complicated for a five year old to understand. All I knew, was I felt WRONG. I remember thinking that I was in the wrong place. Later my dad went to wake mother from her nap. She never woke. Cause of death was suffocation, but nobody could figure out how. She was sleeping on her back, and there wasn't anything anywhere near her face at the time. They couldn't find any evidence of what suffocated her, no strangulation marks or fibers in her lungs. It was like she spontaneously decided to stop breathing. I hadn't understood the concept of death then, but I realized after her being gone for a month that whatever death was, it meant she wasn't coming back. I wasn't bothered. Mother and I was never all that close.

 

Next was my first grade teacher. I had just got back my art project. We were to color one of the many pictures that she had for us. My teacher told me I should've put more effort into staying in the lines. I didn't care though. I thought the teddy I colored green looked great, even if my messy coloring made his tummy look lumpy and not round. But when the teacher went to go back to her desk, she tripped. When she tried to stand back up, I got that feeling again. The long forgotten feeling of wrongness. I had the thought that I shouldn't be moving, because I hadn't wanted to get up. But I shook it off. I WASN'T moving after all. I was still seated at my little table, pencil in hand from trying to write my name in bubble letters. But in the second that the thought entered my head, the teacher fell back before she could fully stand up. She never did. Cause of death: brain damage. If you can call her brain just stopping brain damage. There's no previous sign of any health issues. In a split second, it just shut down, and the rest of her inner functions followed. But I liked our new teacher better. He always had the funnest games. 

 

Year after year, things continued from there. The numbers began to increase, sometimes five deaths in one year. The neighbors loud dog randomly drops dead (Quiet at last!), our old part time school lunch assistant has a heart attack at 15 (Oh well, she never did wash before she served the food. How hard could it be to replace her anyway?), the list goes on in on. And each time, what I came to call "The Feeling" grew stronger: of walking when I'm standing still, of laughter bubbling out my throat when I'm perfectly silent, of being in the wrong place. 

 

By forth grade, I was seeing a counselor weekly. Dad grew concerned of my lack of reaction to the misfortune that surrounded me. It was almost like he'd rather I was hysterical about it, like he preferred me to suffer rather move on with my life. So I talked. I told them how I was fine, how I'd already come to terms with it, but it wasn't enough for them. There just had to be something wrong with me after all. It took a bit of digging before i told them about "The Feeling". Of course, I changed the story a bit, preferring to say that it happened after the incidents were already over. I regretted saying anything. They jump on it as soon as the words left my mouth. "Displacement" they called it, said it was me trying to distance myself from the situation in order to cope. That's when I got the diagnosis. PTSD they said. Like I needed a disorder on top of it all. 

 

It didn't help that I was know as "The Jinx" around town. One just can't be around that much unexplained death without people noticing. And naturally, it was somehow my fault. It must mean that my very existence had cursed them! Nobody would call me it to my face though. They were much too afraid that they'd be next. But that didn't stop me from hearing their whispers. Children made a stupid little jump rope song out it, the halls of the school would suddenly go silent when I walked down them (like that isn't suspicious), even the adults would watch me extra carefully as I went by.

 

It wasn't till sixth grade that I found the truth of it all. I was turning twelve that day, but dad was getting ready for work. He couldn't get the day off, so he was dropping me off at my aunts for a "surprise" party. As if I didn't already know. I was almost ready myself, just putting on my shoes, when "The Feeling" started. I fumbled with tying my last shoe, the so called displacement making it difficult. It continued all the way into the car and through the whole drive without incident, but I KNEW that it didn't make it safe. Something was going to happen, something always happened. I kept alert, waiting. My silence seemed to unnerve my dad. It took me a while to realize just what I was feeling that time. It felt like I was holding something, but no matter how hard I stared, my hand remained empty.

 

When we got out, I only made it two steps before I had to bend to re-tie my shoe. It felt like it was trying to fall off. It was still tied, but I tightened my shoe strings anyway and rushed after dad. I desperately felt like I was falling behind, but he was waiting for me at the door. We went in together and I pretended to be surprised when they jumped out at me and screamed ("SURPRISE!"). Still, I didn't relax. I could still feel the thing in my hand.

 

It happened, finally, when dad took a knee to hug me goodbye. I felt myself move, though I was standing still. I felt my arms raise, though they were hanging by my sides. I felt myself loop and twist the thing in my hand around before grabbing the other end and pulled as hard as I could. Dad fell back and clawed his neck. Everybody rushed to him, panicked and trying to help him for whatever it was. But I remained where I was, my hands at my sides even as they started to tire and strain. My family was screaming ("SOMEBODY HELP!", "He's not breathing!", "Call an ambulance!"), it was chaos. But I couldn't see or hear any of it. My turned to the side, eyes trained on the wall, where I could just stand and watch a scene play out across it. Seeing what nobody else saw, the truth. When it was all over, I sat down and re-tied my shoe. I'd just been orphaned.

 

I made my first "friend" a month ago. My aunt, who I now live with had been so relieved ("Maybe now you'll do more than read! What kind of sixteen year old spends his days at the library? You should be out there making memories!"). It didn't last long though. Guess she wanted to see what "The Jinx" was all about. She didn't expect me to be so boring. But that's okay with me. I didn't expect her to be so annoying. Now I only see her in home economics class. Today we're making veggie stew, because our teacher still doesn't trust us to make anything above the basics.

 

"I can't believe you hung around The Jinx! How did you survive?" Somewhere along the line, girls seem to have forgot how to whisper. I can hear them across the room. But I don't let it bother me. I've been called worse. If they couldn't come up with a better name then that after all these years, it shouldn't be MY life they're evaluating. 

 

"Oh, it was nothing! All the little loser does nothing but read. He's a total bore." I finish chopping my carrots and place down the knife to add them into the pot. It's a little awkward to do around the handle that seems to still be clutched in my hand. Guess the show's about to start. The familiar feeling of moving when I'm not doesn't even faze me anymore. I hardly pay it any attention. I just watch my darkened silhouette slink across the floor and up the wall to stand next to hers. I can feel the phantom movement in my stationary arm as it lifts to tap her silhouette's shoulder. 

 

She spins around in response, but no one's there. She doesn't see the scene playing out on the wall beside her. But I do. I see it perfectly, I FEEL it perfectly. I can't look away as it lifts the shaded knife, one just like the one on the counter beside me. I'm the only one to see it sink into her silhouette's chest, but everyone sees her stumble and clutch her chest. And they already know before she hits the ground that there's nothing they can do. She drops to the floor, dead. All they can do it watch her numbly before slowly turning to me. 

 

"Oh dear. Looks like another spontaneous heart attack." the words taste sweet on my tongue. They back away from me, but that's all they can do. They know there's no proof I did anything. Someone calls the hospital. They don't even bother calling the ER anymore. Her body's not going anywhere, so there's no need to rush.

They call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD for short. I personally call it Peter Pan Syndrome. I can't seem to keep track of my shadow.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I wanted to play. Who cares about the stupid rain? It's not fair! Mommy's just a big meanie!

Anger fills him as he slinks out of the room, leaving his other behind to play with daddy, and slips along the walls into mommy's room. He crawls onto the shadowed bed and picks up a shadowed pillow. By the time mommy struggles, it's to late. She's to weak to stop him. Mommy stops moving, and so does her other.

We like daddy better anyway.

 

+++++++++++++++

 

How dare she! The our teddy looks awesome! She's just a stupid butt head!

She doesn't see the shadowed foot trip her. In seconds, he leaps up as she tries to stand and sinks his pencil right into her eye with all his might. Her other falls with her.

You should've put more effort into being nice!

 

+++++++++++++++

 

That dog is too loud! If they won't shut it up, I will!

Animals are different. People never notice, but animals can sense things. To bad it can't find what it's so scared of. Instead, it runs straight to him. SNAP goes the shadow mutt's neck. He never liked animals.

Silence at last.

 

+++++++++++++++

 

Did she really sneeze into her hand before giving us the bread roll? Oh, that is NOT happening...

He grabs her hair and pulls, HARD. She spins around to cuss out the hair puller but pauses. Her other doesn't see anything. Confused, her other turns them back around. He does it again, and this time her other presses their back against the wall, their knives held in front of their faces in defense. If her other would look down to the floor, the other would see a dis-embodied shadow snatch the shadowed blade from her shadow's hand. But the other doesn't. The shadowed blade sinks into her chest. Her other slumps to the floor.

Can't touch my food now, you disgusting little...

 

+++++++++++++++

 

It's not fair. Dad's never there! He always misses our birthday! Fine, I'm done with him.

He un-threads the shadowed shoe string with ease and walks carefully to the car, waiting for the right time. Dad's bigger than most his other victims, so he'll only get one chance while dad's guard is off. When dad bends down for a hug, he takes his chance. He loops the shoe string around dad's neck and pulls as hard as he can. As Dad falls back, he follows, sitting on his chest for better leverage. His arms start to ache and strain When it's over, he stands only to see his other staring at him. His other SAW. He feels smug as he re-threads his shoe and ties it with his other.

You're welcome.

 

+++++++++++++++

 

Loser? Bore? Is that the best she's got?Then I'll show her what I got.

Knives are quickly becoming one of his favorites. As she turns to the tap on her shoulder, he sinks it right in without hesitation. It's quick and easy, yet still so personal. She and her other fall and he feels satisfied.

How's that for a bore?

**Author's Note:**

> So, any suggestions? Any help is appreciated!


End file.
